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Posts Tagged ‘Dick Douglas’

It was the early nineties, and Mister Lucky, famed member of the Basset Hound Brigade, found himself tied to a chair. He was quite surprised, as this sort of thing hadn’t happened in decades. Since he was a rookie, in fact, just starting out in the adventuring business. A cold shiver went up his spine as he realized that he was genuinely surprised by this turn of events. While to the world at large he was the Luckiest Man in the World, he was actually the smartest man who ever lived, and had long been able to extrapolate what would happen to him using his excessive intelligence. Surprise was something that no longer happened to him. As he tried to free himself from his bonds, he felt his finger brush against another finger, followed by a low groan. Another surprise. It was not a very good day.

Mister Lucky tried to turn to look at his fellow prisoner, but whoever tied him to the chair knew darn well that a knot had to be tied ungodly tight to trap Mister Lucky. He settled on whispering, “Hey there, I’m Mister Lucky, and today’s your lucky day, because I’m going to get us out of this mess! But wait, there’s more! When I find out who did this, I’ll kick his teeth in!”

He waited a few moments for the other prisoner to respond, and when he did, Mister Lucky instantly recognized the voice of Shoshy Raphael, “Not my lucky day if I’m stuck here with you.”

“Sure it is. You’re some Detroit councilman, you’re on the straight and narrow! It’s my job to save people like you, long as you don’t try to kill me first,” said Mister Lucky, “Now let’s see about getting out of here.”

A light went on, momentarily blinding Mister Lucky. He bet it did the same to Shoshy Raphael, and another groan confirmed this. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a figure standing in the shadows.

“You’re awake. Good. I was getting bored,” said the figure, “My name is unimportant, but my message is quite important.”

“Well then, Unimportant, give us the message and let us go on our way,” said Mister Lucky, smiling wryly.

“I’m not stupid,” said Unimportant, “For too long, you and your kind have been a cancer upon this world. Adventurers and costumed heroes and the like running around thinking they’re better than the average man. I’ve taken the liberty of reuniting the Basset Hound Brigade and Nantucket Dragon Group, or at least those I could find, and there’s quite the surprise waiting for all of you once you’re out of here.”

“What kind of surprise?” slurred Shoshy Raphael, probably coming off the effects of some sort of drug.

“If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” said Unimportant, “In five minutes, I’m sure you’ll both be free. Then you’ll find out what the surprise is.”

The light went off and a door opened. Mister Lucky’s mind and hands began to race.

“He didn’t gloat,” said Mister Lucky.

“So,” said Shoshy Raphael.

“Villains gloat. It’s what they do,” Mister Lucky managed to free one of his hands and began work on the other, “So either he’s not a villain, or… I don’t know.”

Shoshy Raphael sat straight up, “You don’t know?”

“Why’s that so surprising,” said Mister Lucky, freeing his other hand and working on the other bonds, “I’m the World’s Luckiest Man, not the smartest one.”

Shoshy slouched, “Yes. Of course. Are you almost free?”

Mister Lucky stood up and began untying Shoshy Raphael, “Sure am! Sit tight, councilman, I’ll get you out of here in a jiffy.”

A minute and twenty seconds later, Shoshy Raphael stood up. Neither he nor Mister Lucky looked a day older than they had in the nineteen-twenties, owing their longevity and youthfulness to a mystical dragon ring and an immortality serum, respectively. Mister Lucky closed his eyes and turned on the light. The door was open, at once inviting and menacing.

“I’m not looking forward to this surprise,” spat Mister Lucky, making his way to the door regardless. He looked out and saw a dimly-lit warehouse, and not a very good one, either. There was a catwalk connecting several second-story rooms and an empty floor. No boxes at all. In addition to a normal door, there were two loading docks.

Shoshy Raphael joined him at the doorway and peeked out, holding his ivory cane in front of him, “No boxes? What is this world coming to?”

“I know,” said Mister Lucky, “Back in the good old days, you made sure there were boxes to buckle swashes off of and all that.”

“Remember the Charleston Death Ray,” asked Shoshy Raphael, “You almost didn’t make it out of that one.”

“I think that was your most fiendish plan,” said Mister Lucky, almost smiling.

Shoshy Raphael did smile, “Why is that? The casualties? The far-reaching implications of such a device?”

“Nope,” said Mister Lucky, “If it wasn’t for that, I think that stupid Charlie Charleston would never have shown up.”

“Ah, yes. Charlie. During the second Great War, we all joked that he was the true force behind Adolf Hitler,” said Shoshy Raphael, “Could you imagine it? A legion of Nazis dancing the Charleston across the battlefield? A race of Aryan Supermen who were exceptional at dancing that infernal dance.”

“I shudder to think,” said Mister Lucky, “Just because I’m all chummy with you right now doesn’t mean I like you. I still think you’re one of the worst eggs I’ve ever come across.”

“Of course. My hatred for you is matched only by my hatred for Edwin Cloudstar,” said Shoshy.

“Who? Never mind, let’s check the other rooms. See if our compatriots are in them,” said Mister Lucky.

A quick check of the rooms revealed the Amazing Rando tied to a chair with Vinny Fitzpatrick, Guerdon Trueblood shackled together with the Impossible Mister Frink, Guy Magistro chained to a wall with Jojo Jenkins by his side, and Simon McCockindale in a room with Dick Douglas. All had been visited by Unimportant.

As if on cue, a large television screen flipped down from the ceiling and the silhouetted Unimportant appeared on its screen. The collective members of the Basset Hound Brigade and Nantucket Dragon Group looked up and waited.

“By my estimates, you should all have escaped by now. Don’t bother looking for me, as I’ve been gone for several minutes, and I took measures to keep you from following me. Now, if you’ll look down, you’ll see two loading bay doors. If my instructions are followed, then they should be opening now,” said Unimportant. The doors did, in fact, open and ten men walked out of the trailers. The Bassets and Nantucket Dragon Group looked down upon them warily. Unimportant continued, “I scoured the Earth to find beings who were your polar opposites. Anti-Bassets and Anti-Dragons, if you wish. It’s my hope that you all kill each other, though I admit my hopes aren’t very high. Have at it, gentlemen.”

The screen ascended and the ten men stared up at the Basset Hound Brigade and Nantucket Dragon Group.

“It’s impossible for us to survive,” gasped Mister Frink.

“Anything’s possible,” said a hippie, among the men on the ground, “I can do what you do, Mister Frink. You can call me the possible Mister Harold.”

“I never liked hippies,” said Mister Frink, under his breath.

“There’s no chance you can beat us,” said Mister Lucky, “I mean, look at you? Are you supposed to be my guy?”

A hulking brute of a man dressed like Mister Lucky just stared, “I’m Mister Unlucky. We’re gonna kill you dead.”

“I like him,” said Shoshy Raphael with a grin, “Right to the point. Nantucket Dragon Group, it would appear that they’re one short, and I’m sure we’re all terribly busy, so why don’t we end this quickly?”

“It’s been years since we done that,” said Simon McCockindale, “You think he’s still around?”

“Of course,” said Guy Magistro, “He’s a demon.”

“True,” said Simon McCockindale.

“Fire,” said Shoshy Raphael, thrusting out his fist.

“Earth,” said Guy Magistro, doing the same.

“Air,” said Guerdon Trueblood.

“Water,” said the Amazing Rando.

“Energy,” said Simon McCockindale.

The five dragon rings each emitted a beam of energy, meeting in the center of the room and drilling into the ground. Moments later, in a flash of brimstone and fire, the demonic hobo Baggy Satan emerged.

“What’s all this, then?” he said, honestly confused. He looked around and realized what was happening, “You lot! Just the other day I was having a chat with me mate about you! How long’s it been?”

“Decades,” said Shoshy Raphael, “If you would, destroy all those men on the ground.”

Baggy Satan’s eyes glowed with happiness, “Truly? No pullin’ levers or makin’ bears out of pizza? Just straight up hellfire an’ brimstone?”

“Yes!” said Shoshy Raphael.

The men on the ground began to converse nervously, and then they all stepped back. The possible Mister Harold waved to the Basset Hound Brigade and Nantucket Dragon Group, “Sorry, fellas, but we quit. Come on, Mister Unlucky.”

The veins on Mister Unlucky’s neck throbbed, his eyes bulged, and his suit tore. He turned to the possible Mister Harold and growled at him, “No!” He ran at Baggy Satan and punched him into a wall, leaving an imprint. There was a collective gasp, “I don’t run!”

“We do,” said Mister Harold, “Good luck taking on ten men and a demon.”

With that, the Anti-Bassets and Anti-Dragons disbanded, leaving only Mister Unlucky to oppose the Nantucket Dragon Group and Basset Hound Brigade.

“I don’t run, neither,” said Baggy Satan, standing up and wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, “Let’s see you do that again!”

Mister Unlucky cracked his knuckles and lumbered towards Baggy Satan, who lashed out with a flaming uppercut that threw Mister Unlucky into the air. He landed with a sickening crack, but immediately stood back up, tearing out a piece of the floor and hurling it at Baggy Satan. The demon countered it with a stream of hellfire, and then turned the fire on Mister Unlucky. He shielded his face from the fire and strode through it as if it were water, back-handing Baggy Satan once he reached him.

“Should we help?” said Vinny Fitzpatrick.

“Already on it,” said Mister Lucky, who took out a notebook, wrote something down, and slid the notebook into his pocket. Scant seconds later, a hundred Mister Luckys appeared in the warehouse and all of them swarmed Mister Unlucky. The brute easily threw them off and used several of them as weapons against Baggy Satan.

“He’s impossible to defeat,” said Mister Frink, whose words caused the large television to fall from the ceiling and crash upon Mister Unlucky, knocking him to the ground. Baggy Satan spat on him and vanished back into Hell and all the Mister Luckys dissolved into goo. The one true Mister Lucky made his way down and walked over to the fallen brute.

He checked for a pulse, “Oh my god. He’s still alive.”

“Quite a feat,” said Shoshy Raphael, “Now then, are we going to continue this little team-up or can we all go our separate ways?”

“We’re done here,” said Mister Lucky, nudging Mister Unlucky with his foot, “Be on the look-out, though. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of this Unimportant. Or Mister Unlucky.”

It was a lovely spring day, seemingly like any other, and most of the city’s notable citizens were gathered at Central Park to celebrate the city’s upper crust, its most generous citizens. Among those gathered were Mister Lucky, the Impossible Mister Frink, and Dick Douglas, who had been invited by the mayor himself.

“There’s absolutely no reason for us to be here,” groaned Mister Lucky, looking at his pocket watch, “It’s a complete waste of our time, and I don’t like the fact that we left Jojo, the Little Spick, and Vinny Fitzgerald in charge of things. Who knows what trouble they’re getting into?”

“Yes, our unique talents do seem to be wasted here,” said Mister Frink, trying to deal with the situation with the legendary stiff upper lip of the Britons. He was not doing a very good job, and seemed to be on the verge of shouting at someone.

“This is the worst free play I’ve ever been to,” said Dick Douglas, reclining on the grass, “When are they going to stop just milling around and get to actually doing something?”

Mister Lucky put away his watch and was about to leave when a large blond man took the stage, “Look, that big fella’s about to say something!”

The man took the microphone and smiled at the crowd, the sun glinting off his perfect white teeth, “Hello, fellow philanthropists and people working for a better tomorrow! As many of you know, I’m Adam Supreme, and the mayor has asked me to say a few words on behalf of the Committee for a Better Tomorrow. In order for us to have a better tomorrow, we certainly have to work for it, and there are some in this fair city of ours who want nothing more than to upset the delicate balance we’ve achieved so far. This, my friends, is the worst form of injustice: trying to undo what others have worked so hard to achieve…”

"We have to act quickly," said Mister Lucky, glad to have something to do, "I'll go try and warn Supreme, you two go after the assassin!"

"Indeed!" said Mister Frink, sprinting towards the gun.

"Meh," said Dick, who lied down and put his hat over his face.

Mister Lucky grabbed his hat and threw it after Mister Frink, "Just do it, Dick!"

"Fine, fine," Dick grudgingly got up and stalked off after Mister Frink, picking up his hat on the way, "I'm going."

"We must hurry," Mister Frink ran back, grabbed Dick by the arm, and began running again, dragging the detective behind him, "If we don't make it to the tree line before the assassin shoots, then a man might fall this day!"

"We want to capture him if we're able, and then question him, of course," said Mister Frink.

"Oh yeah, of course. So shouting is a no-go," said Dick, reaching into his coat for his gun, "What if I shoot him?"

Mister Frink turned to him and scowled, "I think it would serve us best if you would keep you mouth shut and kept running!"

"Fine, Mister Grump," muttered Dick, though he was nearly drowned out by the sound of a gunshot, "We're too late, anyway."

Mister Frink let go of Dick and kept running, "No, there's still a chance that we may be able to catch him, but I fear it's impossible for anyone to save Adam Supreme now!"

"I don't see why you're so worried," said Dick, slowing down to a casual saunter, "The guy seemed like kind of a self-righteous jerk."

Mister Frink shouted back to Dick, knowing that once the assassin's deed was done, the need for stealth was negligible, "He seemed like a good man to me, and I consider myself to be an excellent judge of character. Look, descending from the treetops! The assassin!"

"Eh, he's getting away. Oh well," Dick stopped to nudge a dead squirrel with his foot, "Let's go back, I think they had some food, and no one's going to be eating it since that Supreme guy got shot."

"No! I shall persevere!" screamed Mister Frink as he launched himself at the retreating assassin.

Dick stared in amazement as Mister Frink flew through the air, tackling the assassin with a heavy thud, "Jesus, you probably crushed that guy."

Mister Frink stood up, lifting up the assassin with one hand, "He is unharmed, except he appears to be a harlequin!"

"No, that's a clown," said Dick.

Mister Frink chose to ignore him, "This is positively bizarre."

***

As the gun went off, Adam Supreme stopped speaking and looked up, "What was that?"

By this time, Dick Douglas and Mister Frink, clown assassin in tow, had made their way back to the stage. Adam Supreme and Mister Lucky watched them, and all the blood drained from the latter's face. Adam noticed, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," said Mister Lucky quietly, "We'll be by around seven."

Adam Supreme looked at him for a moment and then walked away as Mister Frink and Dick Douglas walked to the stage. Mister Lucky hopped down and Mister Frink tossed the clown down in front of him.

"I see that," said Mister Lucky, unable to tear his bespectacled eyes from the clown, "We have to turn him over to the police, I guess."

"So he almost killed that Supreme guy," said Dick, leaning against the stage, "He should get a medal, not jail-time!"

"I won't hear you say an unkind word about Adam Supreme," said Mister Lucky, who had begun to feel the same odd connection with Supreme as Mister Frink felt, "He's invited all the Bassets over for dinner."

"Aw, shucks, do I have to go?" said Dick, pouting.

"We're all going," said Mister Lucky, "Even Jojo and the Little Spick."

"Aw nertz," said Dick, "Pardon my French, but you're a pain in the rear!"

"Not to interrupt, but the clown has gone quite limp," said Mister Frink, leaning over the assassin.

"Mister Lucky probably bored him to death talking about Supreme," said Dick.

"I'd say it's far more likely that he took a poison capsule after he got captured," said Mister Lucky, deep in thought, "It doesn't matter. Just toss the body somewhere, we have other things to worry about."

"More important than a suicidal assassin clown?" said Mister Frink, who couldn't believe the malarkey that was coming out of his mouth.

Mister Frink watched him walk away and a deep sense of unease fell upon him, "Yes, but it's something he alone must face, I think. Let's get back to the Fox's Den. We must prepare for tonight. Whatever is happening, I doubt this clown is the end of it."

***

Around seven, the Basset Hound Brigade arrived at Adam Supreme's house, which was a mansion on the outskirts of the city.

"Golly!" said the Little Spick in awe, "I ain't never seen a house this big!"

"My granddaddy used to work at a house like this," said Jojo Jenkins, "Then he and his friends burned it down."

"Why'd they do that? Oh!" said Vinny Fitzpatrick.

"Well, it was during the war, and my granddaddy and his friends were just fed up with being treated like slaves," explained Jojo.

Vinny looked at him while still trying to look at the house, "They weren't?"

"No, they was," said Jojo darkly, "Until they burned the house down."

"Yeah, I know how he felt," said the Little Spick, "I burned down this one workhouse I used to live at. Best thing I ever did."

"Maddon! You two are the devil's own brand o' nuts," said Vinny.

"Enough chatter, you three," said Mister Lucky, walking past them and motioning for them to follow, "We have to be on our best behavior. That means no stealing. Any of you."

Dick grumbled, "You take one cup from a place and you get branded for life. I don't even want to be here. This Adam Supreme is bad news."

"You're the only one who thinks that," said Mister Frink, who had combed his beard for this occasion.

They reached the front door and before they knocked, Adam Supreme opened it, wearing an apron, "Hello, Bassets! Come on in, dinner will be ready soon. Until then, I've got a slight problem."

"Told you," said Dick, "He just wanted us to come over and fix his problem for him."

"Shut up, Dick," said Mister Lucky, "What's the problem?"

"Since I got home from the banquet, someone keeps shooting things at my house," said Adam, removing the apron, "Strange things."

"What sort of things?" said Mister Frink.

"Little people with pointed helmets," said Adam.

"Midget bullets?" said Dick, immediately scanning the skies for any sign of such a thing.

"Yes, I suppose you could call them that," said Adam, "You've gone all white again, Mister Lucky."

"I just need to get inside," croaked Mister Lucky, "That's all."

The team followed Adam inside, and the Little Spick looked at the splendor surrounding him, "Golly! It's even better on the inside! A man could eat like a king all his life with all this loot!"

Adam wagged a finger at him, "A man could also eat like a king by working hard and staying on the straight and narrow, young man. Earning your way in life is better than just surviving."

"Yeah, I guess so," said the Little Spick dejectedly.

"Of course, tonight you can eat your fill and more," Adam placed his hand on the Little Spick's shoulder, "All of you can!"

There was a knock on the door and Adam walked over and opened it. No one was there, save for a package. He picked it up, "I wonder what's inside."

"Don't open it," said Mister Lucky, "I think it's a very good idea not to open it."

"Don't be silly," said Adam, placing the box on a table, "What's the worse that could happen?"

"You should listen to the man," said a voice. Everyone turned as a man stepped out of the shadows, "He is known for his luck, after all."

Adam Supreme grabbed an umbrella from the stand by the door and held it in front of him, "Who the blazes are you?"

"Mister Lucky knows me all too well," said the man.

"I certainly do, PT Barnum!" said Mister Lucky, venom in his voice.

"But didn't you die years ago?" said Adam Supreme.

"That's just what I want the world to think," said PT Barnum, "I'm a master showman, after all, and all the world's my stage."

"Why is the owner of a circus trying to kill Adam Supreme?" said Mister Frink.

"I'll tell you why," said PT Barnum, pulling a telescoping baton from his belt. He pointed it to Mister Lucky, "It's all because of him!"

"I find all of this hard to believe, especially that," said Adam Supreme, "Besides, why would you attack me because of Mister Lucky?"

PT Barnum whipped his baton at a chair and it telescoped to it, wrapping around it, and the chair was pulled towards Barnum, who sat upon it, "It all started years ago, before Mister Lucky joined the Bassets, when he was just a man wandering around the country getting by on his luck. You know how he operates, don't you?"

"I certainly do," said Adam Supreme, "He's the World's Luckiest Man! Good luck happens all around him, and he uses that to perform good deeds."

"Yes, and as you know, a circus has no need for the world's luckiest man," said Barnum, "However, I happened upon Mister Lucky performing a feat of so-called luck and it got me to thinking that, perhaps, he wasn't the world's luckiest man!"

"Then what is he?" said Adam Supreme skeptically.

PT Barnum stood up and kicked the chair away, forcing it to flip through the air and land where it had originally sat, "The world's smartest man, which would be an attraction indeed! However, until he joined the Basset Hound Brigade, I was unable to find him and test my theory. Now, though, I had the happy circumstance to be performing in New Jersey and heard about the banquet in the park. It was the perfect chance to see if Lucky was, indeed, lucky."

"Hold on a second," said Dick Douglas, attempting to digest all this information.

"Yes?" said Barnum.

"The circus is in town?" said Dick.

"Yes," said Barnum, sidling up to Dick, "The famed Dick Douglas, no doubt acting dumb in order to lure me into a corner! It won't work."

At the Fox’s Den, headquarters of the world famous Basset Hound Brigade, the team was enjoying a rare night in when suddenly trouble stuck! In the form of a man knocking on the door! The first on the scene was Jojo Jenkins, gardener.

“Hello?” Jojo answered, but as he opened the door he was met with a flash of blinding light.

“Gee whiz, what a story!” said the light, though as it dimmed it revealed a short stocky man in a pork-pie hat with a “PRESS” ticket sticking out of its brim, “The Basset Hound Brigade keep a slave!”

Jojo stepped back nervously, raising his hands defensively, “Why you taking my picture? I never did no crime!”

Jojo’s cries did not go unheard, and the Impossible Mister Frink joined him at the doorway, “What’s going on here, Mister Jenkins?”

Jojo pointed to the reporter outside, “That man just took my picture!”

“A slave and one of our British oppressors? The Basset Hound Brigade is a regular house of sin,” exclaimed the reporter, snapping more pictures, “This is the story that’ll take me right to the top!”

“Oh dear,” sighed Mister Frink as he rolled up his sleeves and approached the newspaperman, “You must be a newspaperman. I believe our official policy is to turn you out upon your arse and wish you the best.”

“I’ve no doubt about that,” said the reporter, escaping Mister Frink’s grasp with the ease of one who had done so many times before, “What else do you have in there? Vampires? Automatons?”

The Little Spick, commander of the Orphan Freelance and member of the Basset Hound Brigade, chose that inopportune moment to join his compatriots at the doorway, “What’s goin’ on here?”

The reporter snapped more pictures, deftly moving so that he could see past Jojo and Mister Frink, “Why, hello there, son! I’m Arlo Flannery, newspaperman! What do you know about this Basset Hound Brigade?”

The Little Spick grinned and jammed his thumb into his chest proudly, “Why, I’m a bona-fide member!”

Arlo nodded, “What do your parents have to say about that?”

“Nothing, on account of me not havin’ any!” said the Little Spick, still grinning.

Arlo shot more pictures, “Child labor! Not only that, but minority child labor! I know we don’t have any laws against that sort of thing, this being the nineteen-twenties, but it’s still sensational! Off I go to make a name for myself by dragging yours through the mud! Farewell, gentlemen!” With that, Arlo Flannery tipped his hat and ran off.

Jojo turned to Mister Frink, “We’re in trouble, ain’t we?”

“Indubitably,” said Mister Frink solemnly, “We must alert the rest of the Bassets!”

***

In no time flat, the team was assembled in the study. Mister Lucky paced back and forth in front of a statue of the team’s founder, Horatio Chan, who was otherwise indisposed. Mister Frink stood against the wall, arms crossed, while the rest of the team lounged on various couches and chairs.

“I thought we had an agreement with the newspaper,” ranted Mister Lucky, waving his arms, “We keep providing the derring-do and they don’t try to pull stunts like this!”

“Faith and begorrah,” said Vinny Fitzpatrick, the team’s pilot, tears welling in his eyes, “What are we going to do?”

Mister Lucky slammed his fist on a nearby desk, “For one thing, it’s pretty clear to me that anyone with a skeleton in their closet is going to cause this guy to jump to some crazy conclusion. Which means that, god help us, Dick Douglas is our only hope.”

Vinny Fitzpatrick looked up in shock, “But Mister Lucky, what did you ever do that was wrong? You don’t got anything to worry about.”

Mister Lucky stared at Vinny and loosened his bow-tie, “Why, I was one of the founding members of the Orphan Freelance. That’s it. No other skeletons in my closet. Heh.”

“Sorry for bringing it up,” said Vinny, who remembered he was distraught and began almost crying once again.

“It’s all right, you didn’t know. No one did,” said Mister Lucky, tightening his bow-tie again, “Anyway, that’s why Dick’s our only hope. As far as I know, he’s the only one of us without any blemishes on his record. Well, not his personal record, anyway.”

“So I’m the only hope, huh?” said Dick Douglas, who had been reclining on a couch and forcing Jojo to stand, “Well then, I guess that I’m on the case! Uh, what am I doing again?”

“You have to track down this Arlo Flannery person and convince him not to do whatever he’s planning,” said Mister Lucky.

Dick stood up and walked to the door with a swagger, “Heh. Yeah, that’s right. This is a job only Dick Douglas can do, and the rest of your jokers better not forget it.”

After he left, Mister Lucky turned to the rest of the team, “While he’s keeping Arlo busy, let’s find a new headquarters and think up a new name for ourselves. In fact, we might as well try to think up pseudonyms, too.”

***

Dick Douglas wandered the streets, searching high and low for his quarry but also trying to find his office and remember exactly what he was supposed to be doing. After wandering around the city for half an hour, he finally found his office and sat down in his chair and leaned back, putting his feet on the desk.

“I remember when this office was haunted,” said Dick, reminiscing about the founding of the Basset Hound Brigade, “That was a mystery and a half, but I solved it, I did, and took down those Nazi jewel thieves! And I can solve this case! Whatever it is, no matter how many Nazis I have to take down. Huh. Maybe I should have written down what my case is…”

There was a knock at the door and Dick sat up, “Come in?”

The door creaked open, revealing Arlo Flannery, “I’m looking for a private eye to help me dig up some dirt on the Basset Hound Brigade.”

“So you came to the best,” said Dick, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Arlo sat down in the chair opposite Dick’s desk and shook his head, “No, I came to the cheapest.”

Dick didn’t miss a beat, “That’s because I don’t want to deny anyone my keen detection skills. Who did you say you were?”

“The name is Flannery. Arlo Flannery,” the reporter held out his hand, “I’m a newspaperman and this story I’m working on is going to be my big break!”

Dick completely ignored Arlo’s hand, “What story is this?”

Arlo, nevertheless, kept it raised, “The one about the Basset Hound Brigade. You know, maybe I can find someone else.”

Dick continued ignoring Arlo’s hand, but went on the offensive, “Ah, no. I’m just being thorough. I need the money up front.”

Arlo’s hand finally went down, reaching into his pocket to get his money clip. He paged through the paltry amount of bills it contained, “I only have fifteen bucks. You see, this story is going to be — ”

Dick Douglas grabbed the money and shoved it into his own pocket, “Yes, yes. The thing about the Basset Hound Brigade. Fifteen bucks will do.”

“It’s all I have,” said Arlo, “That and this camera.”

“Huh. That’s a nice camera,” said Dick, reaching over and grabbing the camera. Since it was latched to Arlo’s neck, it wasn’t going without a fight, “I’ll take that, too.”

“I can’t give you my camera,” said Arlo, struggling against Dick, “I have pictures on it that I need for my story.”

Dick continued to pull, trying to free the camera from Arlo’s grasp, “Uh, I’ll give you the pictures. Just give me the camera and I’ll help you with your story.”

Arlo sighed and unlatched the camera, “All right. Fine. Here’s the camera. When will you give me the pictures?”

Dick began fiddling with any button or latch he could find on his new device, “Right now. How do I open it?”

“No! You’ll ruin my pictures! You’ll ruin — ” shouted Arlo, nearly leaping over the desk to save his photographs. He was too late, however, as Dick pushed a button and the back of the camera opened up, spilling out film, “– my pictures. You just ruined my pictures.”

“Did I? I never used a camera before,” Dick looked at the camera and tossed it on the ground, shattering its lens, “Oh well. It just so happens that I know where these Fox Hound Coalition fellows are holed up, and pardon my French, but they’re a pain in my rear. It’ll be a pleasure to help you take them down. I’ll even do it free of charge.”

Arlo stared at him, his face pale, “You just took my camera and all the money I have.”

“I mean from this point forward it’ll be free of charge,” said Dick, “Plus expenses, of course. Now let’s go, if we hurry we’ll be able to catch all of them. Including their ring-leader!”

The color returned to Arlo’s face and his eyes glistened, “You mean Mister Lucky? Golly, if I could just get an ounce of dirt on him, it’ll undo all the damage you’ve already done to my blossoming career! It’s a deal!”

Dick Douglas stood up and strode to the door, “Let’s go take down some Fox Hounds!”

Arlo stood up and followed him, “You mean Bassets?”

Dick opened the door and the pair walked out, “Whatever!”

***

Dick Douglas and Arlo Flannery stood in front of the Fox’s Den after wandering around the city for an hour and a half, consisting of Dick trying to remember where he was going and, once he remembered, where the place he was going was.

Arlo turned to Dick, “I was just here an hour ago.”

“Yeah?” said Dick, “Well, now we’re back here again, and this time we’ll bring down Mister Lucky. Hey, do you have a notebook I can borrow?”

Arlo stared at the detective, clutching his jacket close to his body, “I need my notebook. It has all the information I have on the Bassets so far, and I won’t be able to write down anything about Mister Lucky if I don’t have it. So I’d really rather not give you my notebook.”

Dick glared at him, “Listen, do you want me to solve this case?”

“Well, yes, but — ” stammered Arlo.

“Then give me the notebook!”

“Fine,” Arlo relented, pulling his notebook from his jacket and handing it over. He pulled out a pen, “Do you need this too?”

Dick grabbed the notebook and the pen, “I thought that went without saying.”

“Oh well,” said Arlo, rubbing his hands together with malevolent glee, “When I bring down Mister Lucky, it’ll more than make up for it!”

“All right. Knock on the door,” said Dick.

Arlo looked at Dick as if the detective had just told him to shoot the president, “Why?”

Dick smiled in what he hoped was a cunning way, “How else do you expect to get in?”

“I thought you had a way in!” said Arlo.

“Yes, knocking on the front door,” Dick pointed to the door, “It’s the perfect plan. They’ll never expect it.”

“If you say so,” said Arlo, who walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

It opened to reveal Jojo Jenkins, whose eyes bulged in surprise, “Hello? What you doing back here, Mister Douglas? Why’d you bring the newspaper man with you?”

Suspicions began to rise in Arlo’s mind, “What is he talking about?”

“Never you mind,” said Dick, pushing Arlo out of the way, “Let me in, Jojo. My client and I have business to attend to.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Mister Douglas,” said Jojo, standing his ground.

“As your employer, I demand you let me in or I’ll not feed you for a week!” said Dick.

Jojo thought about bringing up the fact that Dick rarely remembered to buy any groceries and so he and Jojo had to dine nearly exclusively at the Fox’s Den, but thought better of it, “If you say so, Mister Douglas.”

The suspicions that had begun to rise had finished their ascent and were at the forefront of Arlo’s mind, “Wait, you’re that Dick Douglas?”

Dick stopped as if he had been stricken through the heart, “There’s more than one?” He regained his composure and continued walking, “They’re right through here.”

“So you’ve just been trying to trick me?” said Arlo, his face once again pale, his eyes sunken, looking for all the world as if someone had just shot his dog.

“No,” said Dick, “As I said, these Bassets are a pain in my rear. And they’re right through here!”
Dick swung a door open, revealing the Basset Hound Brigade, all of whom had changed their clothes. A set of fake IDs was sitting on the desk and someone had brought in a chalkboard and written down a list of locations with the heading “New Headquarters?”

Mister Lucky turned to the newcomers, dressed in a mortarboard and gown, “Dick? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m helping to bring you and this crooked organization down,” said Dick smugly, “Why are you all dressed like that?”

“Well, he decided to do what’s right, not what you say,” said Arlo, who actually had no idea what was going on but was going to make the most of it, “As well he should, since I gave him all my money, my camera, and my notebook! I have virtually no proof of your wrongdoing other than my word!”

Mister Lucky stared at Arlo, then at Dick, “Is this true? You took all his stuff?”

“I sure did,” said Dick, in the middle of tossing the notebook and pen into a fireplace.

“Did you mean to?” said Mister Lucky, “I mean, did you plan to take all of his stuff?”

“I certainly did,” said Dick.

“So, wait,” said Mister Lucky, taking off his mortarboard and scratching his head, “You took all the proof he had. And all his money.”

“That’s what I did,” said Dick.

“So you actually,” started Mister Lucky, trying to force the rest of the words through his mind and out his mouth, “Saved the Basset Hound Brigade?”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” said Dick, shoving the Little Spick off a couch and reclining upon it, “Maybe I planned it all along.”

Arlo Flannery stood in front of Dick and removed his hat, “Dick Douglas, you’re the most cunning and devious man I’ve ever met. I take off my hat to you, and it’s clear that in any battle of wits, I’ll quickly lose to you. Any organization with you as a member must be top-notch do-gooders.”

“Yeah, that’s right, spread the word,” said Dick. Arlo nodded, put on his hat, and hurried out the door.

Mister Lucky turned to Mister Frink, “Did you have anything to do with this, Frinky?”

“No,” replied Mister Frink.

“I need to go lie down. This is just too much,” said Mister Lucky as he removed his gown and exited the room, “Good job, Dick. Good job saving the day.”

The man known only as Death-Trap Devon, and also Devon Danger, and also Devon Smith, ran through the Lion Drome through the pouring rain. Every drop mingled with his panicked sweat and caressed his danger-hardened body, eventually being soaked up by his undergarments. This led to a slight squishy noise when he turned suddenly, but he was in far too much of a tizzy to care about things like funny noises. No, for Devon worked in a Lion Drome, and when there’s terror in a Lion Drome, even the strongest of men turn yellow. Not literally, of course. Metaphorically. Death-Trap Devon crashed into the offices of his boss, Cortez Montego, with the news that had him so panicked.

“Sir! Sir! All the lions are in a tizzy, make no mistake!” gasped Devon, trying to catch his breath, “I’ve no idea what’s gotten into them!”

Cortez Montego puffed his cheap cigar, the foul aroma of which filled the tiny office and nearly made Devon opt for the downpour outside. Montego put his feet atop his desk, soaking some safety violations that had been sitting there for months, “I know. They’ve been acting that way all week! Ever since we got that new lion from Darkest Africa.”

Devon knew the lion’s reputation well, and his face grew dark, “You mean that big fella? I heard some strange things about him from the trappers, sir.”

“So did I. Apparently, there was a smaller lion riding on top of him!” Montego began to chortle, which turned into a raking cough. Devon ran over and began patting him on the back, but Montego waved him off and continued, “A lion the natives called — ” There was a crash of thunder, ” — Leon Leopolous!”

Montego sat up and slammed his fist on his desk, kicking up scraps of tobacco and a good helping of dust, “Don’t be silly, Devon! Lions don’t miss things! They’re just animals, and other than the noble donkey, animals don’t have feelings at all! In any case, maybe we’d better get someone to figure out what’s going on. Get me the foremost lionologist in the United States!”

“Uh, those don’t exist,” said Devon, softly.

“Then get me the Basset Hound Brigade!”

***

In the heart of New York sat the Fox’s Den, fabled headquarters of the Basset Hound Brigade. Though few of its members chose to reside there, it had enough trappings for a dozen men to live happily and in good health for decades. The headquarters was supposedly secreted behind a gentleman’s club, but there was also a side door which proclaimed the Fox’s Den to be the home of the Bassets. It was at this door that a mysterious figure now knocked. The knocking continued until the daring detective Dick Douglas answered the door.

“Hello?” he said, looking out the door. He was about to close it when he heard a noise which sounded remarkably like purring at his feet. He looked down to find what appeared to be a soaked hairy midget, “You’re a hairy little midget, aren’t you? We don’t serve your kind here, so why don’t you make like a freight train and go somewhere else?” The midget continued to purr, more forcefully, and Dick Douglas pulled out his sidearm, “Forceful little freak of nature, ain’t ya? Well, I’ve just got the thing for that!”

The sound of gunshots caused Mister Lucky running. He met Dick Douglas in the main hallway, “I heard gunshots! What’s going on here?”

Dick Douglas shot a priceless vase, “There’s some hairy little midget running around, Lucky, and I aim to put him out of my misery!”

“Holy Christ!” shouted Dick, leaping back and aiming his gun at Jojo, “How long have you been here?”

Mister Lucky gently pressed his forefinger on the barrel of Dick’s gun, pointing it towards the floor, “What was it, then?”

“I think it was a dog or somethin’!” said Jojo, excited to be included, “Maybe some sort of cat!”

Mister Lucky peered down the hall, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, “Well, if it’s in here, then we have to find it — ”

“And shoot it!” finished Dick.

“No! Unless it attacks us, in which case blow its brains out,” said Mister Lucky, “Jojo, go to the Room of Science and bring me back Frinky’s new invention. Dick, you come with me. We’ve got to find that beast!”

“Yessir!” Jojo saluted and ran off.

“Pardon my French, Mister Lucky, but you’re a pain in the rear!” said Dick sourly.

“You wouldn’t think it’d be so easy for some wild animal to hide in here! Especially for this long, considering your detecting skills,” said Mister Lucky.

Dick Douglas aimed his gun down the hallway and noticed something he hadn’t before, “Oh my God! My sleeves have buttons on them!”

“Then again…” said Mister Lucky, who was unable to finish his thought as the hairy midget had entered the hallway, “That’s no dog! That’s a lion!”

“Is this what you wanted?” said Jojo, coming out of nowhere and proffering a small metal box with a leather belt connected to it.

“It sure is!” said Mister Lucky, kneeling next to the lion and wrapping the belt around its neck, “Hold still, little guy. Let me get this on you. There we go!”

The box crackled to life and soon a low scratchy monotone was heard, “Mrrowhat is happening.”

“Dear God!” shouted Dick, running into the kitchen. He peeked around the corner, “That lion is a witch!”

“No, Dick, it’s just Frinky’s invention,” Mister Lucky stood up and placed his hand on the lion’s head, “It allows animals to communicate with man!”

The box crackled, “I have to come to ask assistance. My friend was abducted by white apes. I want to find him.”

“What a silly lion,” said Dick, emerging from the kitchen with a jar of honey and a spoon, “Here, have some honey.”

“No, Dick!” said Mister Lucky, but he was too late.

The lion’s tongue cautiously licked at the honey, and then began greedily lapping it up, “I like the taste of honey. On my tongue.”

There was another knock on the door and Dick dropped the jar of honey and ran to the door. Mister Lucky dove to the floor to catch the jar and watched in terror as Dick drew his sidearm, “I hope it’s someone I can shoot!” The door opened to reveal Death-Trap Devon, dressed in a white jumpsuit and carrying his helmet under his arm. Behind him, the rain pelted his motorbike. Dick holstered his weapon, “It’s not. Just some white guy.”

“Hello there, I came here…” started Devon, and then he noticed the lion, “Oh my God! It’s a lion!”

“Hey! I know him!” said Jojo, who had obtained a brush and was brushing the lion’s mane with love, “He’s Death-Trap Devon! He works at the local Lion Drome!”

“Hello there,” said Mister Lucky, stepping in front of the lion, “What brings you to the Fox’s Den?”

“Uh, actually, I came here to ask for help with one of our lions, but it seems you have lion problems of your own,” said Devon, pointing to the lion.

The lion sniffed the air and stood up, walking close to Devon and sniffing him, “The white ape. He has the scent of my friend on him. He has my friend. Give me back my friend.”

“Jesus Christ!” said Devon, stepping back, “You gave it the ability to talk?”

“We sure did, and today’s your lucky day, because we’re all going down to this Lion Drome of yours to get to the bottom of this,” said Mister Lucky.

“All right,” said Devon, putting on his helmet.

Mister Lucky smiled widely, almost malevolently, “But wait, there’s more! If we find out this Lion Drome is up to no good, then we’re going to shut it down!”

“Oh boy!” said Jojo, “I get to go on an adventure!”

Mister Lucky’s smile shrunk into a nervous one, “Uh, by everyone, I mean everyone but you.”

“Also, the Lion Drome doesn’t allow coloreds,” said Devon, with a small apologetic smile.

“Oh,” said Jojo.

***

Dick Douglas, Mister Lucky, Death-Trap Devon, and the lion known as Leon Leopolous stood outside the mammoth Lion Drome. While its lights were off, one could tell even in the darkness that it was a wonder of the world.

“My God! It’s magnificent!” said Dick Douglas, looking up in awe.

“Oh yes. The nineteen-twenties truly are a time of wonder and decadence. Now then, Devon, show us what you need to show us!” said Mister Lucky.

“Almost too much of a hurry. Oh well,” said Mister Lucky, placing his hand on Leon’s back, “Lead the way, Leon! The Basset Hound Brigade doesn’t need things like permission and cooperation to get the job done.”

Leon snorted and began walking, “He is this way.”

***

In Cortez Montego’s office, Montego spat out his coffee, “What do you mean you brought them here?”

Death-Trap Devon shifted nervously from foot to foot, “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

“That was before I knew they had a lion with them, you nitwit,” said Montego, standing up and coming very close to slapping Devon, “Not only that, a talking lion!”

“I was thinking that maybe we could kidnap the lion and make it perform,” said Devon, unflinching, “A talking lion is pretty magnificent.”

Montego began pacing his office, “Don’t you get it? If that lion talks to the other lions, then the whole jig is up! Those are black-market lions!” There was another clap of thunder.

Devon was taken aback, “What?”

“We couldn’t afford lions the legit way, so we had to hire unsavory thugs to go to Africa and take the lions from their homes and families,” said Montego.

“I don’t get it,” said Devon, “Wouldn’t that cost the same thing as hiring legitimate trappers?”

“No, you fool!” said Montego, slapping Devon, “If that lion talks to the other lions, the jig is up! I need you to go take care of Lucky and Douglas! And the talking lion!”

“I most certainly won’t! I have no problems risking my life daily in death-defying stunts, but black market lions?” said Devon, stomping towards Montego and backing him into a corner, “Killing people? That, sir, is where I draw the line! Good day to you!”

Leon sniffed the air, “Yes.” A large lion looked up and walked over to the bars, and he and Leon began nuzzling.

“Are they queer lions or something?” said Dick Douglas.

“It’s not our place to judge, Dick,” said Mister Lucky, “I think lions do things differently, though. I mean, their bond is so strong that Leon found his way from Africa somehow and sought us out.”

“My friend tells me something,” said Leon, “He says that he and the others were taken from Darkest Africa badly.”

“What do you mean?” said Mister Lucky.

“Kidnapped,” said Leon as the thunder clapped overhead.

“That’s terrible, I think!” said Mister Lucky, driving his fist into his palm, “Well, we’ll just have to go set things right.”

“Danger behind you,” said Leon.

“Stupid lion,” said Oliver Aquarius, holding some rope and sacks in front of several other nameless thugs.

“Oh no! Shoot him!” said Mister Lucky.

“Right you are!” said Dick, grinning as he pulled out his gun and aimed at the brute’s head. He pulled the trigger, but the only thing the gun did was click. “Huh. Guess I used up the bullets.”

Mister Lucky stepped back and looked around for something he could use as a weapon, “Oh no!”

“Get them, boys!” said Aquarius, pointing at the trio.

Before they knew it, the Bassets were beaten and tied up in the middle of the Lion Drome’s main arena, a giant bowl-shaped track designed to allow men in motorbikes with lions in the sidecars to drive as fast as possible to the thrill of all. Nearby, Devon was tied to one of the Lion Drome’s motorbikes with Leon Leopolous in the sidecar.

“I can’t believe we lost so easily,” said Mister Lucky.

“I just wonder what they’re going to do with us,” said Dick.

“They’re going to kill us,” said Mister Lucky with a sigh, “They said that fifty times.”

“Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” said Dick.

Oliver Aquarius towered over his captives, “Not only that, but we’re going to kill you with each other! I’ve tied Devon up to his motorbike so that it’ll keep going until it reaches the very tip of the lion drome, at which point it will start going downwards, slowly building up speed with your lion friend in the motorbike’s sidecar. Then, when he reaches the absolute bottom, he will crash into you, killing you all in the process! And, just to make it seem like a suicide, I’m going to leave Douglas’s gun sitting right here on the ground within easy reach of you! It’s the perfect crime!”

“My God! He’s right!” said Dick, his voice rapt with appreciation for such a scheme, “What a mastermind!”

“Sorry, Bassets,” said Devon, “I didn’t know the world of Lion Dromes was such a dark and seedy place.”

“It’s okay, just let me figure out a way to get us out of this,” said Mister Lucky, “I am the World’s Luckiest Man, after all. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“You can’t! And now I’ll retreat to a safe distance, as to not be collateral damage! See you in Hell!” Aquarius turned the key for Devon’s motorbike, bowed, and ran out of the arena.

“This is it, I guess!” said Devon as the motorbike began its ascent of doom, “I’m sorry you and your friend had to be dragged into this, Leon.”

Devon gritted his teeth, “You do? Well, that gives me the strength to get us out of this! At least, some of us.”

“What do you mean,” said Leon.

“I know what you’re thinking, Devon, and don’t!” shouted Mister Lucky, “Better for all of us to die with honor than for one of us to die with honor and the rest of rest of us to go on to live long and happy lives!”

Dick’s brow furrowed, “Uh, wait — ”

Devon’s mind was made up, however, “No, this is what I have to do to atone for my sins.”

“Thanks, Mister Lucky! See if you can put that gun in my way!” screamed Devon, struggling to be heard over his motorbike’s engine.

Mister Lucky stuck out his leg and easily pushed the gun in front of where he knew Devon’s path lay, “Done!”

Devon turned to the lion in his sidecar, “Leon, I’m going to try to slow down. Can you jump out?”

Leon turned to him, “Yes. I am only being held here by centrifugal force and the fear of death.”

“All right then,” said Devon, closing his eyes, “Here we go.”

Using all his might and inner strength, Devon was able to relax his grip on the motorbike’s accelerator, allowing Leon Leopolous to easily leap off. As the bike continued to descend, it eventually hit the track and sped towards Mister Lucky and Dick Douglas. Once the front wheel hit the gun, the bike somersaulted into the air over the pair and landed on the ground, exploding on impact and taking Devon with it.

“Devon made the ultimate sacrifice so that we could live,” said Dick, sadly.

“Quick! Get us out of this ropes!” shouted Mister Lucky, turning towards Leon. Leon ran over and easily bit through them. Mister Lucky stood up and rubbed his wrists, “There we go! Now let’s go get Montego and Aquarius!” Somewhere in the Lion Drome, a gun ran off and Mister Lucky froze in his tracks, “Oh god. That came from Montego’s office.”

Dick Douglas squinted, “I can see the window from here. Poor bastard shot himself. Couldn’t live with the shame of what he did, I guess.”

Mister Lucky took off in a sprint, “Then let’s get after Aquarius!”

***

Back the lion cage, Oliver Aquarius stood at its door with an axe in each hand and a smile on his lips, “With the Basset Hound Brigade out of the way, I can kill all these lions! Then I’ll make a killing of another kind, on the meat black market! Selling lion meat! Ha!”

Two glowing eyes looked at him from the shadows, and Leon Leopolous emerged, snarling, “No you will not.” He leapt through the air and knocked Aquarius to the ground and began clawing at the man’s face and chest.

Mister Lucky ran out of the shadows, followed by Dick Douglas, and pulled Leon off of Aquarius, “That’s enough, Leon! I know you want to exact jungle justice upon him, but he’ll get his! In jail!”

Aquarius snarled and was about to sit up when Mister Lucky brought his foot down upon his chest. Aquarius spat at him, “I swear to you, I’ll spend my life trying to get revenge on all of you and your descendants! Especially you, talking lion!”

Mister Lucky smiled down at him, “Oh, put a sock in it. We stopped your evil scheme, and you’re going to jail for the maximum length of time. Several weeks!”

Dick Douglas stood in front of the open cage door, “Should I just let the lions go, then, so they can all go back to Africa? Only I sort of already did.”

“I will lead them back to our homeland,” said Leon as he began to claw the voice box off his neck. Mister Lucky began undoing the buckles, and Leon continued, “Thank you for what you have done, Bassets. We will never forget your heroism and courage.”

With that, Leon Leopolous ran after his lion brethren to lead them back to Africa. Dick Douglas and Mister Lucky stood and watched them leave, and waved to them. Mister Lucky smiled, “It was all in a day’s work for the Basset Hound Brigade!”

The sunlight poked through the curtains of the Impossible Mister Frink’s quarters, slowly engulfing the modest hotel suite he called home in a dank light. He grumbled to himself and rolled over, pulling his nightcap over his ears to block out a din coming from other room in the hotel. The whole situation was not to his liking, and he ached to return to his rooms at Oxford with the terrible beds and cobweb-infested windows. He could get a decent night’s sleep there, and he could be certain that any noise he heard could be quelled with the threat of expulsion or some sort of reading assignment. Yet, as a member of the Basset Hound Brigade, he was counted on to reside in New York, though he refused to stay at the Fox’s Den, the storied home of the Basset Hound Brigade.

Mister Frink attempted to roll over, but knew that there was no stopping Mister Lucky once he set his mind upon something and so he rolled onto his back and sat up, “What the devil? Mister Lucky, why are you in my private rooms?”

Mister Frink folded his arms across his chest, “Yes! It’s quite impossible for us to take a day off!” Slowly, Mister Frink realized that he had activated his power to affect probability, which rendered the impossible quite possible indeed, “Oh, drat. I’ve done it again.”

Mister Lucky dug through Mister Frink’s closet and pulled out a suitcase, and then took it over to the wardrobe and began tossing various items in, “You sure have! What do you want to do with your day off?”

“I’d quite like to return to my slumber,” said Mister Frink, already reclining and shutting his eyes.

Mister Lucky stopped packing the suitcase and leapt atop the bed, grabbing Mister Frink by his lapels and pulling him up, panic dripping from his every word, “And waste your day off? We should go somewhere! Far, far away! For a very long time!” He laughed nervously, then leapt off the bed and resumed packing.

Sensing that his slumber was over for the time being, Mister Frink removed his covers and walked behind an oriental screen, a gift from an Oriental trader the Bassets had helped previously, “What are you blathering on about?”

Mister Lucky tossed Mister Frink a gray three-piece suit and sat down on the bed, “I got a message from the Nantucket Dragon Group. They’re going to set off a series of bombs in the city today and I don’t want to be here for that.”

Mister Frink emerged from behind the screen fully dressed and straightening his tie, “I’m surprised at your behavior! You are one of the foremost adventurers of this age, and here you are acting like a common coward! I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re addled, for some reason, but we not must turn our backs on this crisis! We must join up with Douglas and the rest and — ”

Mister Lucky slumped forward, removing his bowler hat and putting his forehead in his hands, “They’ve all been kidnapped, Frinky. Every last one. Even Jojo and the Little Spick, and some ancillary member we just inducted last night and who’ll probably be dead before this whole thing is over.”

Mister Frink froze momentarily, “We must save them, even if it seems impossible for us to do so!”

“Oh, damn it. Fine. Let’s go save our…” Mister Lucky ran a few words through his head, found one he was happy with, and continued, “Let’s go save our allies from the clutches of the Nantucket Dragon Group and avert a city-wide disaster.”

“Indeed! First, let us eat breakfast. One can’t operate properly without a full stomach, and I sense that your stomach is very empty indeed,” said Mister Frink, ringing the bell to summon room service.

Mister Lucky smiled pathetically and nodded, “Okay!”

***

In a warehouse across town, the rest of the Basset Hound Brigade was, indeed, in the clutches of the sinister Nantucket Dragon Group.

Vinny Fitzpatrick scowled at the Dragons, “You’ll never get away wit’ this!”

Shoshy Raphael, sleepy-eyed and sharply dressed in a white suit with a fur-lined coat draped across his shoulders, laughed once, “Oh, but I think we will! Just to show you how serious we are we have secured your newest member, Quick-Exit Quinton, to our deadly explosion apparatus!”

Dick Douglas began frothing at the mouth and fighting against his bonds, “You fiend! Let him go and take me instead!”

Vinny tried to turn to look at his detective compatriot but only managed to get his head half-way turned, “I’ve never seen you so worked up about anyone, Mister Dick!”

Dick Douglas stopped struggling for a moment and closed his eyes solemnly, bowing his head and gritting his teeth, “In the short time I’ve known him, he’s become like a brother to me.”

Shoshy Raphael tapped his ivory cane against the floor and smiled maniacally, “All the more reason to destroy him! Amazing Rando, are his bonds secure?”

“Hizzah!” The magician Amazing Rando waved his hands mystically and stroked his immaculate mustache, “Nothing up my sleeve, no slack in the bonds! Let’s make him disappear!”

Simon McCockindale was the final link in this chain of power, “Energy!”

Thin beams of multi-colored light emanated from the rings, arcing towards the sky and quickly descending and meeting in the center of the five members of the Nantucket Dragon Group. As the five beams met, a hellish rainbow drilled towards the Earth and in a flash of fire and brimstone a demonic hobo emerged.

“Blimey! What’s all this, then?” said Baggy Satan, waving his arms to escape the smoke. He recognized his surroundings and rolled his eyes, “Not you lot again.”

“Yes! Baggy Satan, pull the lever that will activate the machine to destroy Quick-Exit Quinton!” shouted Shoshy Raphael, pointing towards the explosion apparatus and a lever not five feet from Simon McCockindale.

Baggy Satan looked from Shoshy Raphael to the lever, and back, and back again, “Really? I could just blast ’em wit’ the ol’ hellfire, I could, or any number o’ creative and ‘orrifying t’ings.”

Shoshy Raphael replied, “The lever, Baggy Satan!”

Baggy Satan floated up to the lever, trying to ignore Simon McCockindale as he did so, “Whatever you say, guv’nar.”

Baggy Satan pulled the lever and the machine below him started slowly, rumbling softly, sounding somewhat like an oncoming train. The Basset Hound Brigade watched in terror as the Nantucket Dragon Group looked on with glee as Quick-Exit Quinton quickly tried to free himself from bondage. An escape artist by trade, he easily freed one of his hands and reached down to undo his feet. With each foot, the machine rumbled louder and more quickly, until Quick-Exit Quinton reached up to free his other hand. As he did so, an explosion erupted from the machine, engulfing Quinton and leaving behind nothing but a singed hand which tumbled into the bowels of the machine.

Shoshy Raphael laughed, “He’s just the first! We shall kill every last one of you do-gooders, as our machine runs on the power of virtuous souls, and we shall use those virtue-laden souls to destroy the city!”

“You people are mad!” shouted Vinny Fitzpatrick.

“Only because that fool Mister Lucky isn’t here to witness my triumph!” said Shoshy Raphael, completely unaware that Mister Lucky was across town arguing with Mister Frink about toast.

Dick Douglas looked around and gestured to his African-American gardener and a young Hispanic man, “Too bad the Jojo and the Little Spick are knocked out. I’m sure they could use their native magicks to free themselves, and then us.”

Guy Magistro had no such qualms, however, and was chucking his magical eggs at the orphans as they ran about the warehouse over-turning boxes and making a general mess of things. As the eggs burst, unleashing various magical effects such as bursts of ice and fire, the orphans screamed and fell to the ground. However, Brachiosaur was finishing up his work.

Vinny looked around. The Nantucket Dragon Group were nowhere to be seen, nor was their machine, “I think they left while we was talkin’.”

Dick Douglas smiled and rubbed his hands together, “Great! Another case solved. Let’s go get us a drink.”

***

Elsewhere in the city, the Nantucket Dragon Group sat atop their incredibly slow-moving explosion apparatus as it made its way towards the center of the city. Amazing Rando attempted to practice his card tricks while Guy Magistro chucked his magic eggs at passer-by and laughing. Guerdon Trueblood stood with his arms folded, looking over the white man’s domain. Simon McCockindale sat with his legs dangling off the side of the apparatus, wondering if he should use his energy ring to increase the apparatus’s speed. He opted not to, as Shoshy Raphael was standing on the edge and gesturing out towards the city and ranting. Speeding up would no doubt cause him to fall off. Simon McCockindale’s monkey climbed on the outside of the machine while Baggy Satan hovered some distance behind.

“We shall take this apparatus to the very center of the city where we shall use its awesome power to destroy the centers of population,” he shouted, occasionally pointing at a pedestrian.

“Not to be cheeky, sir, but ain’t the whole city a center of population?” said Simon, listlessly waving his legs.

Shoshy Raphael turned to Simon, “That’s now what I meant and you know it.”

“I guess, sir,” said Simon, as he went back to his ponderings.

Shoshy Raphael pointed at the still-rising sun, “In any case, this shall be the first strike of the Nantucket Dragon Group’s war against the world!”

Several streets in front of them, a ghostly voice traveled on the wind, its sing-song cadence heard only by one man, “Here comes Mister Lucky, sad that he missed the handsome young boys…”

Mister Lucky scowled and whispered harshly, “Shut up, you!”

“I didn’t say anything,” said Mister Frink, frowning.

“Never mind, Frinky,” said Mister Lucky, “Here they come! Let’s go!”

Mister Lucky and Mister Frink stepped into the straight, causing the already nearly immobile explosion apparatus to become completely stationary. Shoshy Raphael looked down upon his enemies, “Oh, drat! It’s the rest of the Basset Hound Brigade. No matter, it’s still seven against two!”

The Nantucket Dragon Group descended from atop the explosion apparatus and took up a battle formation in front of the two members of the Basset Hound Brigade. Mister Lucky stood firm, “Too bad you’re facing off against the Luckiest Man in the World!”

“Just what I needed to hear, Frinky! Let’s have it!” said Mister Lucky, lashing out with a roundhouse punch.

It landed on the side of Simon McCockindale’s head, who cried out, “Oh no! I’ve been waylaid!” He slumped to the ground and his monkey dragged him away.

“A bit of fisticuffs, eh? Take this!” said Mister Frink, hitting Guy Magistro in the jaw with a right hook. The sorcerer fell to the ground in a slump. Mister Frink followed up by hitting the Amazing Rando with a right hook.

As the Amazing Rando fell, he said, “Now I see you, now I don’t, because I’m unconscious now!”

Mister Lucky found himself facing the man-mountain known as Guerdon Trueblood, and so he attempted to appeal to the Native American warrior’s better nature, “Your proud native American heritage can’t possibly agree with using innocent souls in a death machine, Trueblood!”

Trueblood looked down at him, “It does when they’re the souls of the white man.”

Mister Lucky smiled and wagged his finger, “In that case…”

A flowerpot fell from the sky and hit Guerdon Trueblood square in the head, knocking him unconscious.

“That flowerpot came out of nowhere,” said Shoshy Raphael, hissing.

“Did it?” said Mister Lucky with a wink, “It’s your turn, Shoshy! Give up and we’ll go easy on you!”

Shoshy Raphael stepped back, holding his ivory cane up as if to repel Mister Lucky, “Not so fast, Lucky! You forget that we have the power of Hell on our side! Baggy Satan, transport us back to our secret headquarters and destroy this machine! Farewell, Mister Lucky! We won’t meet again, because you’re going to die!”

Baggy Satan groaned and waved his hands, causing the Nantucket Dragon Group to vanish into thin air. Mister Lucky and Mister Frink braced themselves for the destruction of the explosion apparatus, but it simply fell apart.

“Well, that was a let-down,” said Mister Lucky.

“I believe they sought to have it explode. They should have given their demon more explicit instructions,” said Mister Frink.

“Well, then, I suppose today really is our lucky day!” said Mister Lucky, picking up a piece of the machine to examine.

“It will never be a lucky day so long as their evil roams the world,” said Mister Frink solemnly.

[A train engine carrying Purga the Demon-Thing smashes into the wall of the Coliseum of the Stupid. Mike P is the first on the scene, having been in the area due to his event. Jerald and Elvin Clovar are next, followed by Ethan Crane who has obtained a bucket of popcorn which he is carrying around despite the fact that he is unable to metabolize it. Mike P cocks an eyebrow.]Mike P: What the heck?[Purga the Demon-Thing roars in anger and pain.]Jerald: I think Purga is in there!Mike P: Huh. Think he’ll be okay?Jerald: Unfortunately, yes.Elvin Clovar: This is crazy! What do you think it is?[Tom Phillipson, one of the many challengers who have emerged from their stadiums to see what happened, scoffs at Elvin Clovar’s question.]Tom Phillipson: It’s obviously Meekrat. Their first attack.Player One: I thought you said that they were out to capture the villains, not destroy them.Tom Phillipson: They’ve been watching. They know the Stupid is playing for keeps now.The Wiper: Oh yeah? Well, those bastards won’t take us without a fight!Bootman: I’ll give ’em the boot, I will!The Wiper: You said it! Look, there he is now![Meerkat, minding his own business, sees several villains running towards him, sighs, and runs the other way. Meanwhile, the three Embodiments emerge from their respective stadiums. Deity Guy is adorned in a general’s hat, Lamp Prime looks normal, and the Stupid looks like the burning train engine.]The Stupid: What the hell is that?Lamp Prime: It looks… it looks like part of my train!The Stupid: So you’re behind this, eh? Have at you![The Stupid flicks a flaming tendril at Lamp Prime, who blocks it with solidified light.]Lamp Prime: I have nothing to do with this.Deity Guy: Guys, stop, it looks like someone is inside. Once we find out who it is, we’ll find out who’s behind this. Pretty neat, though.[As Deity Guy finishes, the rest of the train is pulled up by Mister Frink on his gyrocopter and the Animajor. Shoshy Raphael is standing on top of it, leaning on his ivory cane and smiling.]The Stupid: You’re still alive? Then that means that either Purga never found you, or… oh no.Shoshy Raphael: He did, indeed, find me, as you’ll find him inside the burning wreckage.The Stupid: So you won. You’ll find your next event far less survivable.Shoshy Raphael: A-ha! What you fail to realize is that my next event will take place away from you! You see, we’re rebelling.Lamp Prime: As evil always goes.Charleston Charge: Sorry, Lamp Prime, but Raphael isn’t alone.[Charleston Charge tosses the Manakeet feathers to Lamp Prime.]Charleston Charge: Here’s your feathers. Frink and I are done making fools of ourselves for your amusement.Mike P: What is that?[Mike P hops on his flying disc and rides it to the top of the train, where he finds the small plastic robot who had so recently been the engineer. His eyes shine and he touches it reverently. He nods.]Mike P: Hey! He says his name is Nico! He guesses he’s neutral, and he wants no part of all this nonsense either! Well, you know what? Neither do I! I’m with the other guys.Deity Guy: Did anyone else hear the robot speak? Is Mike P going insane?Lamp Prime: Get your head in the game! He just said he’s jumping ship!Deity Guy: That’s so not cool! What about the last event?Shoshy Raphael: We’ll finish the tournament without your interference!Mister Frink: Indeed! No more deaths, no more attacking each other. We’re defecting!Graves: I’ll say you’re defective. Still, not getting killed seems like a good plan.Player One: For once, we agree on something.Red Scare: Loath as I am to admit it, Raphael is right. If I kill someone, it’ll be because I want to, not because someone tells me I have to.[The crowd begins to murmur, and slowly they begin walking towards the train.]The Stupid: Stop! You can’t go with them! We’re at war!Deity Guy: You need us!Lamp Prime: My Purple Lamps, talk some sense into them!Owen Reilly: I think —Xavier Malcolm: You think it’s a good idea to get while the getting’s good. Come on, kid.Owen Reilly: Okay!Dick Douglas: Pardon my french, but you three are a pain in the rear!The Stupid: You can’t do this! You can’t! We’re at war!Doctor Aquarius: Consider us all conscientous objectors.[Soon, all the challengers are following behind Shoshy Raphael, Charleston Charge, and Mike P, who is carrying Nico on his flying disc. They head away from the stadiums. The Embodiments watch them leave.]The Stupid: Fine. If that’s the way they want to play this, then I think it’s time to unleash you-know-who.Deity Guy: Weren’t we going to do that anyway?The Stupid: Well, yes. But now we have a better reason.Lamp Prime: We’re speaking to each other again now?The Stupid: Only because we have a common enemies! The mortals!Deity Guy: I know for a fact that a few of them are immortal.The Stupid: You know what I mean. Deity Guy, stand by to rev up the machine. Lamp Prime, stand by to summon. I have… something… to attend to, and then we’ll show those ingrates what for!

[All participants and spectators are gathered in front of the stage, where Lamp Prime, who has dimmed himself for the occasion, is standing beside a wall with several photos upon it. Two-thirds of the crowd are silent, hats off and faces down-turned. Another third have obviously been having a party, and have half-full glasses of champagne and half-empty bottles of beer about their persons. Oddly, this split is not by alignment, as many champions of Deity Guy and the Stupid just couldn’t resist a party, most notably Tommo (better known to the world at large as T-Bone of Danger Force) and his compatriots. Agent Man-In-Charge has also been drinking, though his reasons are his own. Suddenly, the skies turn dark and Deity Guy and the Stupid erupt from them, coming down in a crackle of electricity. Pikapunk is nearly struck by an errant bolt, but he swiftly and nervously side-steps it. As the other two Embodiments take the stage, Lamp Prime turns to them.]Lamp Prime: Really, guys? Really? This is supposed to be a solemn occasion.Deity Guy: Sorry for wanting to liven things up a bit.Lamp Prime: It’s a memorial service!Deity Guy: Meh.Lamp Prime: Can’t you take anything seriously?[Deity Guy is already holding a half-full bottle of tequila with a lamp-shade on his head. Lamp Prime sighs and turns to the gathered masses.]Lamp Prime: As you all know, in the last round we experienced several losses. We are gathered here to mourn these fallen, and to celebrate their lives. Balthazar Scorpius, also known as the Mastakat, was slain on a trip to the Nightmare Realm. We really should have seen something like that coming, but it was still an unfortunate occurrence and he shall be missed.Doctor Aquarius: I thought that was some sort of time clone?Lamp Prime: It was, so he’s still alive and living his life, but that specific Mastakat is dead now.Doctor Aquarius: The real one is still alive, though? The one who has been a compatriot of Mister Leopolous and myself for decades? Who has a wife and children?Lamp Prime: Yes! The real one is still alive!Doctor Aquarius: In that case, I doubt anyone really cares that the other one’s dead. In that era, he was quite obnoxious.Lamp Prime: Moving on. Charlie Charleston delighted us all with his incessant dancing of the Charleston and continuous claims of being better than us. While he seemed to have gone crazy during his final days of life, we shall try to remember him as he was, not for how he died.Charlie Charleston: Charleston, charleston, da da da da Charlie Charleston… I just won’t stay dead!Lamp Prime: Oh, for the love of…Charlie Charleston: I learned my lesson! If I mess with Mister Lucky and Agent Villain, then I die! Not like I haven’t died before, mind you, but that was the pits!Dick Douglas: Even if you were still dead, no one would be sad, you hack! Pardon my french, but you’re a pain in the rear!Lamp Prime: Okay. So no one cares that a duplicate of the Mastakat is dead, and Charlie Charleston is still alive.Charlie Charleston: Not still alive, alive again! [singing to the tune of the Charleston once again] Heaven doesn’t want me, Hell don’t either! I just won’t stay dead!Lamp Prime: Fine. Then this memorial service is just for —[Lamp Prime is interrupted by a disembodied singer that, before this moment, only Mister Lucky could hear.]Theme Song Guy: Wuh wuh-wuh wuh wuh wuh-wuh wuh! There goes Mister Lucky, going straight to Hell. Where he buried all the children, he’ll never ever tell. There goes Mister Lucky! Dead and gone for good. No one will ever miss him — and no one ever should.[As quickly as the voice arrived, it disappears.]Lamp Prime: Er, yes. Thank you for that. As I was saying, I guess this memorial service is just for Mister Lucky. Unless he’s still alive, too.[A figure emerges from the audience, wearing Mister Lucky’s signature hated bowler hat and glasses.]Fake Fred: Hey Barn, it’s me, Mister Lurky! I’m not dead!Lamp Prime: Well then —Agent Villain: Hold on, hold on. I need to have a word with… Mister Lucky.[Agent Villain drags Fake Fred off to the side, far away from prying ears.]Lamp Prime: No doubt Agent Villain is overjoyed to see his friend back. I guess we’ll wait to continue until they come back.Deity Guy: Boring. You there! And you! You’re putting on “Lady Windemere’s Fan” for us![The two beings chosen, Guerdon Trueblood and Baco, appear on the stage.]Baco: I don’t know “Lady Windemere’s Fan”!Guerdon Trueblood: I refuse to make an ass of myself for the amusement of the white man![Scripts appear in Baco’s… proxmity and Guerdon Trueblood‘s hands.]Deity Guy: Then this should make for a most interesting interpretation![Meanwhile, in the empty locker room of the Arena of the Stupid.]Agent Villain: What the hell are you doing?Fake Fred: You wanted me to be Mister Lucky, so I’m being Mister Lucky.Agent Villain: That was when Mister Lucky was still alive. He’s dead now, so you don’t have to pretend to be him anymore.Fake Fred: Then who should I be?Agent Villain: I don’t care. Just not Mister Lucky.Fake Fred: All right, Barn.Agent Villain: Now get back out there. I’ll be ten steps behind.[Fake Fred leaves the locker room, and Agent Villain turns towards a corner.]Agent Villain: I don’t know your game, but you want to play? We’ll play.[Agent Villain leaves the room, and as he makes his way to the stage, he hears Fake Fred talking.]Fake Fred: …and that’s why Mister Lusty had to go back to his home planet. I, Ensign Hero, am sad to see him go but —[Agent Villain, standing off-stage out of view of everyone else, is waving his arms madly, shaking his head, and mouthing obscenities at Fake Fred. Fake Fred sees him out of the corner of his eye, and continues.]Fake Fred: — I have to go do some hero things. On my own home planet.The Stupid: You’ll be back for your next event, right?Fake Fred: I sure will, Barn.[Fake Fred leaves the stage and Agent Villain grabs him by the shoulders. The stilted line-reading of Guerdon Trueblood: can be heard coming from the stage, as well as Baco’s tearful attempts to carry on.]Agent Villain: I’m off limits.Fake Fred: I didn’t know, Barn.Agent Villain: If I ever catch you posing as me again without me telling you to do so, which I’ll never do, you know what I’ll do. I’ve only put up with you for this long because you’re useful to me. Stop being useful, and stop being alive. Got it?Fake Fred: You sure are cross, Barn. I get it, though. No more being Mister Lucky and no being you. Who should I be?Agent Villain: I. Don’t. Care.Fake Fred: If you say so, Barn.[Fake Fred walks off, no doubt in order to ponder his next move. Agent Villain attempts to return to the crowd, but he is seen by Lamp Prime.]Lamp Prime: Ah! Agent Villain! Why don’t you come up here and say a few words about your dear friend?Agent Villain: No. He wasn’t my friend. I hated him and I’m the one who really killed him.Lamp Prime: Hey, champ, it’s okay. I know you’re angry with yourself and feel guilty because you couldn’t save him, but that’s not true. You did all that you could. Now come on up![Agent Villain feels an unseen force propel him onto the stage from behind. He assumes that it’s Lamp Prime’s telekinesis. Baco rushes off the stage, thanking Agent Villain profusely through tears. Guerdon Trueblood simply exits the stage. A podium and microphone appear in front of Agent Villain. He turns to the Stupid, who shrugs and rolls his eyes. With a deep sigh, he begins to speak.]Agent Villain: Mister Lucky is dead.Elvin Clovar: I thought he just went back to his home planet? Also, that you went back to your own planet, too?Player One: Don’t be dumb. That was obviously a skit to add a little levity to this thing. Mister Lucky probably isn’t an alien, and I’m pretty sure Agent Villain isn’t, either.Elvin Clovar: If it was a skit, then who put it on?[Player One ponders this for a moment, then points to Agent Seven-In-One.]Player One: He’s a master of disguise! It’d be child’s play for him to masquerade as Lucky and Villain.[Elvin Clovar’s brow furrows.]Elvin Clovar: Point to you, One. Point to you.[With that, Agent Villain continues and no one ever mentions the “skit” again.]Agent Villain: Mister Lucky is dead. I’m glad he’s dead. He’s been a thorn in my side for decades, and you know what? I’m glad I’m the one who killed that over-rated do-gooding moron. Yeah, Charleston did something to the death-trap. You think Mister Lucky couldn’t get out of something like that, though? That sort of thing is like a Tuesday afternoon for him. He could have saved a dozen snot-nosed little brats with stupid elf-hats and himself. So is he really dead? Yeah. Yeah, he is. Because I stabbed him. And like I said, I’m glad he’s dead.[The crowd is silent for a moment, and Agent Villain scowls at them, defiantly angry. As he’s about to leave the stage, one man begins to clap in the back of the crowd. One by one, the clap is taken up by other members of the crowd, and soon everyone is applauding Agent Villain’s speech. He stares at them, eyes wide in amazement at their stupidity. Somewhere, a pan-pipe begins to play. Agent Villain seizes the microphone again.]Agent Villain: Morons! You’re all morons![This simply results in more cheering. Agent Villain throws down the microphone and angrily leaves the stage.]Lamp Prime: A touching tribute from Agent Villain. It’s not what you said, but how you said it. Your mock anger does little to mask your grief, you know. And believe me when I say that there was nothing more you could do to save Mister Lucky. Now then, the next round is going to commence shortly. You’ll find the updated brackets in your programs. Please try not to kill anyone. Does anyone have any questions?[Hundreds of hands shoot to the sky.]Lamp Prime: About the events.[Hundreds of hands drop. Only two stay up.]Lamp Prime: You! In the hat!Scoop Griswald: Scoop Griswald, Detroit Free Press, Student Learning program. What do you know about the Moonman Marauder?Lamp Prime: Who? I don’t think he’s even here. We didn’t bring him.Scoop Griswald: Ah, so he exists! Is he actually from the moon?Lamp Prime: I’m guessing not.Scoop Griswald: I smell a cover-up!Tom Phillipson: Hmm. Let’s talk.Lamp Prime: Okay, enough from you. Any other questions?[The remaining hand raised belongs to a villain known as the Wiper. Beside him is a man covered in blackness in a giant green boot.]The Wiper: What’s this about a Meekrat Peacekeeping Group? I mean, I ain’t done nothing so bad as to need the intergalactic fuzz on my back. All I do is wipe minds, and only then when I’m gettin’ paid.[Deity Guy’s eye bulges with rage, but Lamp Prime somehow fixes him with a calming scowl.]Lamp Prime: Why don’t you get this, Stupid?The Stupid: Listen, there’s no such thing as Meekrat. Crazy old man and all that.The Wiper: You sure? I got enough on my plate without worryin’ about whether or not Bootman and I are gonna get put in some space pokey.Bootman: I’ll give ’em the boot, I will!The Wiper: Calm down. Do you have to do that wherever we go?The Stupid: I swear that there’s no Meekrat. There is, however, an entire army of super-heroes and various do-gooders here. Why aren’t you worried about them?[The Wiper and many other villains look around, shocked. Whispers about the super-heroes working with Meekrat start to form, and many of them fix glares upon the Meerkat, who glances around nervously. Needless to say, absolutely no one is convinced by the Stupid’s claims.]Lamp Prime: All right. If there are no more questions, let the third round commence![Everyone begins to leave.]Lamp Prime: You two, stay. We have to discuss something.[Deity Guy and the Stupid turn.]Deity Guy: What?[Lamp Prime fixes a stealth bubble around the three, allowing no sound to travel in or out.]Lamp Prime: We need to talk about the final event. At the time, it seemed like a really good idea, but then people started dying.Azrael: Only one of those three really mattered.[Lamp Prime jumps back at the sudden appearance of Azrael, the Embodiment of Death.]Lamp Prime: Jesus Christ!Azrael: No, not him. If you want, I can have a word with my employee. Make it so that no one else can die during these events.Deity Guy: Yeah, why don’t we do that?The Stupid: NO![Deity Guy, Lamp Prime, and Azrael turn to the Stupid.]The Stupid: I mean… no. Death should have consequences, unless they defeat your reaper in a challenge or something. Isn’t that how it works?Azrael: It is, but I could cut out that middleman. You three are already taking advantage of me and my realm with your final event, what’s one more atrocity against the balance of life and death?Lamp Prime: The Stupid’s right. We can’t have you cut out the middleman. Things are going to get crazy enough as it is.The Stupid: So you’re still on board with the final event, and what we’re going to have to do? Both of you?Azrael: Of course. You guys are still coming to my after-party?[The other three Embodiments mumble non-committally.]Azrael: Okay, just let me know, because if not the only one who’ll be there is Barry and if that’s the case I can write it off as a work expense.[Azrael vanishes.]Deity Guy: Work expense?The Stupid: You know how he is. What about you, Lamp? Are you still on board?[Lamp Prime thinks for a moment and dims his bulb even further, for him the equivalent of closing his eyes.]Lamp Prime: Yes. Yes, I am.The Stupid: Excellent. See you two for round three, then.[The Stupid and Deity Guy vanish, no doubt to their first events. Lamp Prime lingers for a moment, looking at the picture of Mister Lucky.]Lamp Prime: Well, Lucky, not sure why you had to die, but it sure does seem to be messing with things. For some reason, I think things are going to be crazier from here on in. More people will probably die. Well, we’ll deal with that if it happens. I’d hate to have to another memorial service, though.[The wall vanishes, and a picture of Mister Lucky appears in a small shrine outside the Hippodrome of Lamp Prime.]Lamp Prime: Well, here’s to round three. I really hope no one else dies.

[L$@df$@gi immediately goes into “standby mode”, which consists of shutting off his own monitor. Dick Douglas looks down at the page and finds the section entitled “Analogies”. Dick Douglas snickers, turns to Jojo Jenkins, and points at the word. Jojo Jenkins whispers in Dick Douglas’s ear the meaning of the word “analogy”. Dick Douglas stops laughing and looks down at the page, frowning.]Dick Douglas: This is stupid. I’m a private detective, not an expert in the finer points of American.Jojo Jenkins: I think the language is called English, Massa Dick.Dick Douglas: I guess you missed your geology class, Jojo. We live in America- not in England.Jojo Jenkins: I wasn’t allowed in no geology class…Father Graves: Could you two knock it off? I’m trying to work, here.[Both Dick Douglas and Jojo Jenkins look over at Father Graves, who is hurriedly filling in bubbles with his pencil. Dick Douglas looks at Jojo Jenkins, then at Father Graves, then back at Jojo Jenkins.]Dick Douglas: Are you thinking what I’m thinking?Jojo Jenkins: Oh, Massa Dick, you couldn’t!Dick Douglas: Take it easy, Jojo. I’m not going to kill the guy. I’m just going to steal his answers.Jojo Jenkins: Oh. That’s fine. Just don’t get caught none.[Dick Douglas leans over his desk and attempts to get a closer look at Father Graves’s booklet. Though he can see some of the answers, he can’t see nearly enough, as he‘s at least two rows away. Quietly, Dick Douglas rises from his desk- and starts to speak.]Dick Douglas: Dick Douglas was in a bind.Jojo Jenkins: Massa Dick, you thinkin’ aloud again!Dick Douglas: He knew that time was running out for him and his trusty gardener, the idiot Jojo Jenkins.Jojo Jenkins: Hey!Father Graves:[putting down his pencil and turning sideways] What the hell are you doing?Dick Douglas: Dick looked at the priest. Did the sickly, ugly little man know that Dick was behind him?Father Graves:[closing his answer booklet and fully turning in his chair to face Dick Douglas, scowling] Graves could hear the out-of-shape has-been as he externally monologued, revealing himself to be an even greater moron than he had previously. Graves would have called Dick pathetic, but instead just sighed and considered the source, which admittedly wasn’t much.Dick Douglas:[grimacing, leaning down to place himself right in Father Graves‘s face] Did the lanky, hawk-nosed freak know that this was a matter of life-or-death for Dick Douglas, the world’s greatest private detective? If he didn’t cheat on this test and pass, Dick might become the laughing stock of the Basset Hound Brigade.Father Graves:[standing up, towering over Dick Douglas by an inch or two, and thrusting his boney white finger into Dick Douglas‘s chest] Cheating?! You miserable son of a-L$@df$@gi:[powering back up] Cheater, cheater, pumpkin-eater. You are disqualified, Dick Douglas and Jojo Jenkins.Dick Douglas: What?! No!L$@df$@gi: Father Graves proceeds to the next round.[L$@df$@gi pulls a zipper on his keyboard with his power cable and unzips himself into oblivion. Dick Douglas‘s mouth hangs open in disbelief at his failure as Jojo Jenkins shakes his head, disappointed.]Father Graves: What’s the matter, Dick? A great detective like you should have seen that one coming.[Father Graves chortles heartily as he grabs his pencil and walks out of the room. Dick Douglas grumbles and turns over Father Graves’s booklet. He notices that none of the bubbles on the “Analogies” page were filled in at all. Father Graves was just completing the name section.]

[Dick Douglas, Jojo Jenkins, and Father Graves find themselves in a classroom]Father Graves: What the hell are we doing here?Lamp Prime: Your event. Your proctor will be with you shortly. Good luck. Dick Douglas: Proctor? I hardly know her!Father Graves: What’s that supposed to mean? Dick Douglas: Well, you see, “proctor” sounds like “proct her”, and-Father Graves:[sighs] I get that, idiot. What the hell does it mean to proct someone? Dick Douglas: Well, uh… pardon my French, but you’re a pain in the rear!Jojo Jenkins: Massa Dick? Someone just popped in. Dick Douglas: Not right now, Jojo, I’m matching wits!Father Graves: No, you’re not. You’re being a jerk-ass.L$@df$@gi: Quiet, please.Father Graves: Holy shit, it’s a talking computer. In an elf hat. Dick Douglas: I’ve never seen anything like it!Jojo Jenkins: We see those all the time. He looks like an Apple IIe. Dick Douglas: Oh, Jojo. It’s so darn cute when you try to sound like you know what you’re talking about. What do you want, modern marvel?L$@df$@gi: Quiet, please. Dick Douglas: I can’t understand your fantastic future language!Father Graves: He wants us to be quiet, nimrod, and he’s not speaking a future language. It’s just a computerized voice. Dick Douglas: Anything you want, future-being. [Dick Douglas and Father Graves sit down right next to each other, despite there being an entire room of desks to pick from. Jojo Jenkins sits apart from them.]L$@df$@gi: In a few moments, we will start the standardized testing. A number two pencil can be provided if you need one. [Standardized tests appear in front of the three test-takers, as do several sharpened number two pencils]L$@df$@gi: Please open your test booklets. [The students do so] There is an example of how to fill in your answer sheets. [The answer sheets appear on the desks] The question is, “Which of these is an animal?” The answers are, “Couch, Battleship, Cheese, and Cat.” Please fill in the proper answer on your test sheet. [There is a moment of frenzied bubble-filling] Now then, please turn to section one…

Deity Guy: Ha! Look at The Stupid with his fake Howard Cosell. Show that Harry Caray rip-off how it‘s done, gentlemen! Fake Fred: Hey, there, hockey fans. I’m Coward Hotel, and with me as always is my good pal Barney.Ghost of Charlemagne: I’m Charlemagne, Howard. Fake Fred: Sure thing, Charlie.Ghost of Charlemagne: You know, Howard, something seems a little…different about you. Fake Fred: Why is that, Cyril?Ghost of Charlemagne: Well, I…uh…I guess you have a point there. Fake Fred: Tonight, we have a great event planned! Cream and her man-eating gimp will face-off against Snazzy Euro and his amazing camel.Ghost of Charlemagne: Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Howard? None of that was at all correct. Fake Fred: Never better, Chad.Ghost of Charlemagne: Hmm. Well, to recap what Howard didn’t-quite-say, today’s event will be an intense game of Uno. Since Howard’s a little off at the moment, let’s go and meet the contestants! First up is eight-year-old Kareem and his legal guardian, his camel!Kareem: Hello, everyone! Say “hi” to our fans, Mr. Camel! Camel: BRAAAHMRAHMRAHMRAHMRAH!Kareem: You said it, Mr. Camel! Uno is a game we can’t lose!Ghost of Charlemagne: And our other contestant is Jiro Ochi, better known to the gay and transsexual population as “Sexy” Jiro, owner of Sexy Jiro’s Pleasure Palace!Sexy Jiro: Herro, gaijin! I pray Uno bettah than any American! What say you, Gimp? [whacks the leather-clad gimp in the groin with a thick dowel rod] Gimp: MMMPH!Ghost of Charlemagne: Yes, well, back to you, Howard. Fake Fred: You are right, Clancy. This will be a great game of Old Maid. Let’s get started!

Mister Lucky: Hold on a second! Dick, do you see that? Dick Douglas: See what?Mister Lucky: That’s not Howard Cosell at all! It’s Fake Fred! Dick Douglas: You’re crazy, Mister Lucky. I know Howard Cosell when I see him, and that’s Howard Cosell.Mister Lucky: He’s wearing a leopard-skin, blue neck-tie, and glasses! And he looks just like Fred Flintsone! Dick Douglas: He also keeps forgetting his name, where he’s at, and everyone else’s names.Mister Lucky: Exactly! Dick Douglas: …yes, exactly like Howard Cosell.Mister Lucky: Argh! I guess I’ll have to take care of this myself! I guess I’ll have to… RESCUE HOWARD COSELL!Ethan Crane: Would you be quiet? People are trying to watch!Mister Lucky:[mumbling] You’ll all get yours… after I rescue Cosell.